Theo’s theatrics earn us an unlikely encore

WITH impending cuts impinging on the Arts Council’s funding of the ballet and the sudden realisation that the resulting cancellation of the Spring Tour means very little guaranteed employment over the next few months, I somehow got my priorities wrong and decided to risk the sacrifice of the games against City, Leeds, Ipswich and West Ham, on the altar of hopefully being able to afford all the other remaining Arsenal jollies.

It was about an hour before KO against City when I was finally forced to relinquish my seat by flogging it on the Arsenal mailing list. Sad sap that I am, since the recipient had to drop my membership card back to my place, I asked him to get me a programme, so I could make like I was at the match and read it, during half-time, whilst watching a recording later that night.

At least I was able to listen to the radio commentary while in the wings, albeit contrary to best working practice for me to be grafting on stage in the West End, while concentrating on events in N5, courtesy of an all too conspicuous earpiece from my trusty terrace tranny. As far as job security is concerned, it was probably fortunate that we failed to score, since I’m sure the first few rows of the audience might have been a bit bemused by a ballet interpretation of Shakespeare that included a vociferous offstage outburst of “Get in there!”

It would by hypocritical to criticise Mancini’s “boring, boring” City, having spent much of my youth watching an Arsenal side in the early 70s who were the maestros at grinding results out on the road. Although putting myself in the increasingly “noisy neighbour’s shoes”, having spunked up all that moola, I might’ve expected just a tad more ambition?

With a 12.45 KO against Leeds at the weekend, I wasn’t going to miss my opportunity of an, albeit brief, live taste of FA Cup magic on football’s favourite Saturday!, even if it meant leaving at the break for a 2.30 matinée.

Having ridden my motorbike around to the ground for a quick getaway, I found myself crossing the South Bridge to the stadium, amongst an intimidating throng of the 8,500 travelling fans, wishing I was brave enough to respond to their vociferous rallying cries, with a chorus of “where were you when you were good”.

!I was hoping that the Gunners would have it all wrapped up by half-time, but as I dashed back to the bike to discover a costly parking ticket stuck to a wing mirror, I wondered why I’d bothered making the effort to turn up for the first 45, when my team were so patently devoid of similar commitment to the cause. Pace and precision were essential for the Arsenal’s pretty football to flourish against Leeds’ impressively disciplined and doughty defensive display. Sadly Arsene’s starting line-up was found badly wanting for both ingredients.

Still my afternoon would’ve proved a whole lot more depressing, if it wasn’t for the fact that while Juliet was making her customary meal of fluttering off this mortal coil at the Coliseum, Walcott was doing likewise at the Emirates. Although the slight tug of a sleeve was obvious for the second penalty shout, if it hadn’t been for the clamour for a spot-kick immediately prior I doubt ref Dowd would’ve gifted us the opportunity of a last-gasp equaliser — resulting in various baffled stares from the corps de ballet as I danced my own daft jig of delight in the wings. So largely thanks to Theo’s theatrics, the Gunners were still in the hat for the 4th round draw.